


and i was like baby, baby, baby, oh

by seventhstar



Series: come on, baby, won't you hold on to me? [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Announcements, Cravings, Domestic Fluff, Fucking Machines, Knock Yuuri Up Week 2017, Lactation Kink, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Pregnancy, Social Media, Vomiting (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: “…is that…are you pregnant?”“Yes!”“Since when?”“Three months. Look, there’s my baby, Pumpkin. And here is Yuuri’s baby, Butternut—”“Are both of you pregnant!?”“Yes!”“At the same time!”“Isn’t it wonderful? We’re in perfect sync! And we only tried the one time.”





	1. Chapter 1

“No, Vitya.”

“But Yuuri,” Viktor said, hands over his belly. His hands are always over his belly, these days, except when they are on Yuuri’s belly instead. They’re approaching three months, now, and starting to show. More than once, Yuuri has woken up in the morning to find Viktor staring at himself in the mirror, shirt rucked up over his chest.

Sometimes he sits in silence; sometimes he sings, in Russian or French, songs his parents and grandparents sang to him as a child; sometimes he just talks. There’s no rhyme or reason to what he says. He reminisces about his skating career, he coos over the baby’s future adorableness, he tells them about Yuuri in extravagant detail. _Your sire is named Yuuri,_ Yuuri heard once, as he eavesdropped from under the covers. _He’s very brave. You’ll see when you meet him._

Yuuri doesn’t feel brave, watching his stomach swell day by day with a mounting sense of unease. He feels like he’s jumped off a cliff and is still falling. He talks to their babies, too but he feels idiotic doing babytalk and self-conscious rambling about nonsense. Instead he finds himself inevitably reading the baby the grocery list, and calculating their taxes for them out loud, and giving them running commentary on whatever’s on television.

“Do you think the baby will be bored?” Yuuri asked.

“Never,” Viktor assured him.

So here they are, sitting side by side on the sofa, trying to decide how to announce their pregnancies. If he’s honest with himself, Yuuri has to admit that he has no desire to tell anyone; ideally he’d just let people show up next year and be surprised by the nursery full of babies. But Viktor has all these ideas, and he clearly wants the support from his family, and also Yuuri knows, rationally, that soon enough it’ll be impossible to hide, anyways. He could pass for just fat, but Viktor already looks like a maternity wear model. He glows.

“We’re not announcing our pregnancy over Instagram.”

“Beyonce did it.”

“Can’t we just text Mom and Dad and let them tell people?”

“Don’t you want to see people’s faces?”

“Hell no.”

“But Yuuri! I found someone who makes flower crowns for baby bumps!”

“You what?”

“Please?” He looks down. “What do you think, Potato? Do you and Tomato want a photoshoot?”

Viktor pouts, eyes huge and shining. He reaches out to cover Yuuri’s hands with his own, so that they’re cradling his stomach together. Yuuri sighs; he hates to make Viktor unhappy.

“One photoshoot. And we tell our families first. And we don’t post it until they all know.”

“Done! I’ll call the photographer! How do you feel about maternity lingerie?”

“Not in public.”

“In private?”

“…okay.”

Viktor beams, and leans in to kiss him, and then flops back onto the couch to start making calls. He starts rubbing his stomach again, absently. Pregnancy has agreed with him physically; his hair looks thicker, his skin is clear, his little baby bump adorable. But more than that, pregnancy has made Viktor happier than Yuuri has ever seen him. He seems settled, somehow. The prospect of having a family agrees with him.

Yuuri puts his feet up in Viktor’s lap and starts googling ‘how to tell your parents you’re pregnant’ on his phone.

 

* * *

 

“Yakov! Yakov, look at this.”

“Vitya, why are you here? I’m busy!”

“But look!”

“…is that…are you pregnant?”

“Yes!”

“Since when?”

“Three months. Look, there’s my baby, Pumpkin. And here is Yuuri’s baby, Butternut—”

“Are both of you pregnant!?”

“Yes!”

“At the same time!”

“Isn’t it wonderful? We’re in perfect sync! And we only tried the one time.”

“...”

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes, they are. Now sit down and tell me about all this. When are you due? Are you going to move? Where is Yuuri?”

“He wanted to talk to his parents on his own first. Okay, so these are our plans for renovating the apartment, because we need a bathroom with a tub now…”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri, is Phichit at home?”

“As far as I know!”

Yuuri has to yell, since he’s in the bathroom throwing up again. It hurts like hell, in part because his gums have started bleeding. Apparently that’s a pregnancy symptom, too. Last week he found himself taking an afternoon nap. Whether he’s tired because he gave up caffeine or because the baby is sucking the life out of him, Yuuri has no idea.

He rinses his mouth out and wanders back into the kitchen, where Viktor is going through their mail at the table.

“I need his help. We need a hashtag.”

“What, for the Instagram post?” Yuuri sighs and sits down beside him. The whole thing has gotten kind of out of hand, in his opinion, but Viktor is thrilled. And Yuuri has to admit the sketches of what’s planned for the photoshoot are beautiful. He’s going to suggest they have one of the shots of them framed for the house—or maybe he’ll just do it and surprise Viktor.

Phichit knows about the pregnancy, now. He was one of the few people Yuuri called personally.

His parents were thrilled, of course—Yuuri had told them he and Viktor were trying, because he’d wanted their advice. They were already shopping for a house in Hasetsu and stocking up on baby clothes. Mari promised to be the worst aunt of all time, spoiling her nieces and nephews rotten and handing them back to their parents full of sugar. Yuuko and Takeshi offered their children as future playmates; Yuuko called Yuuri, later, to tell him he could ask her any awkward questions. Minako said that she would drink extra for both of them, since they’d be abstaining.

Yuuri sort of wishes he could go to Hasetsu immediately, but he and Viktor have decided to postpone moving until after the babies are born. At least Yakov and Lilia are delighted, too; they’re already threatening to assign their recalcitrant students to get Viktor and Yuuri’s groceries and clean their house.

“Why do we need a hashtag?”

“It’ll help organize the social media reaction. And it’ll be helpful if we do any endorsements or anything.”

“Ugh.”

“We don’t have to. But it would bring in some extra money…” Viktor pauses. “And we would get free stuff.”

He’s going in for the kill. Yuuri loves free stuff.

“Are you okay with the photoshoot being next week?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“We can cancel if you don’t feel well that day.”

“It’s seriously fine, Vitya. I’m feeling great.”

Viktor eyes him skeptically. The last time Yuuri looked at himself in the mirror, he looked like he’d crawled back out of the grave. While Viktor is rapidly approaching ‘pregnant Beyonce’ levels of beauty, Yuuri could pass for an extra on the Walking Dead.

“All right,” Viktor says. He squeezes Yuuri’s hand across the table. “I made soup. Will you drink some?”

Yuuri sniffs—his sense of smell has been more acute than usual and the smell of chicken broth makes him hurl—but Viktor’s soup doesn’t make him any sicker. And Yuuri has to eat more in the mornings, since he’s developed heartburn and is supposed to avoid eating at night.

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

[Viktor and Yuuri are sitting, facing each other, in front of a window. The lighting is soft and warm. They’re both wearing gauzy robes that are open to show off the gleaming swell of their pregnant bellies; as they cradle each other’s stomachs, their rings flare. There are garlands of flowers draped over their shoulders, dangling down to touch their baby bumps. The photos are in black and white; Viktor and Yuuri’s expressions are tender.]

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	2. got a better solution for you, boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 2: cravings/libido

Yuuri can’t keep still this morning; Viktor frowns at him as he measures Yuuri’s belly. They have strips of tape on the  wall, blue and pink, where they mark their belly diameters daily. People keep asking them if the colors of the tape correspond to the babys’ sexes; in truth, Viktor just really likes pink and Yuuri just really likes blue. Viktor drops the measuring tape on the floor and inks in today’s girth on Yuuri’s tape in his messy scrawl. Yuuri leans back against the wall, eyes closed, and shivers.

He feels hot all over. His skin prickles. He keeps thinking that as long as Viktor is on the ground, he might as well make himself useful and lick Yuuri’s—

“Are you going into heat?” Viktor asks. “Wow.”

“I can’t go into heat.” Yuuri has to crane his neck a bit to see Viktor properly; halfway through his second trimester, his baby bump makes it impossible to see things on the ground. “I’m pregnant.”

“You can have pseudoheats while pregnant. It’s a rare side effect.”

“Great.”

Of course it is. _Why does my body hate me,_ Yuuri thinks in vague irritation. With him and Viktor both pregnant, they can’t have sex as easily as they used to. And Yuuri feels guilty, asking Viktor to exert himself, when he’s in the same boat Yuuri is in. (Almost. Viktor’s body doesn’t keep doing weird shit, like going into heat or craving disgusting foods or nightmares. At least Yuuri’s stopped throwing up.)

He pats his stomach in apology. Yuuri is convinced, based on the pattern of movement, that the baby knows what he’s thinking.

“I need to lie down.”

“I’ll bring you breakfast.”

“Vitya, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t be silly. I feel fine.”

“I want mayo. And chocolate sauce. And chicken nuggets.”

Viktor makes a face, and Yuuri winces before using the footstool to climb onto their bed. Yuuri allows Viktor to hover over him until he’s lying down, propped dearly upright by a pile of pillows. As soon as Viktor is gone, Yuuri shoves down his maternity sweatpants and thrusts a hand awkwardly between his thighs.

He’s soaking wet.

Fuck. Now that Yuuri is actually touching himself, he can feel the familiar heat under his skin. It’s hard to get leverage to thrust properly, and he thinks about getting the vibrator out of the bedside table; but no, Yuuri’s not sure he can manage it while he’s in this state. He rubs himself furiously. If he can just come before Viktor comes back—

“Yuuri.”

“Vitya.”

Yuuri closes his eyes. There is a clink and the scent of chicken as Viktor sets something down on the bedside table; the mattress creaks and sinks as Viktor climbs onto the bed beside him. Warm fingers slide down over Yuuri’s stomach, lingering over the curve of it.

“So pretty,” Viktor murmurs. “Shh. You should eat.”

“I can’t,” Yuuri says. “I can’t do anything.”

“I’ll feed you. Come on. Open your mouth.”

Yuuri obeys, and whimpers as drool drips down his face. Another wonderful side effect of pregnancy, but Yuuri is just aroused enough to not care. And Viktor kisses him wetly, so he must not mind either.

Something warm is placed between Yuuri’s lips, and he bites down. It tastes good, and it tastes wrong, and Yuuri moans as Viktor’s other hand slips down his stomach and presses into his cunt. His fingers go in, and out, gently, as Viktor feeds him the rest of the chicken nugget bite by luscious bite.

“I can’t believe you’re eating chicken nuggets dipped in mayo and cheap chocolate sauce,” Viktor says. His thumb presses down on the tip of Yuuri’s cock.

“Oh—Vitya—I can’t believe you got chicken nuggets from McDonald’s this early in the morning.”

“I had them delivered.”

“How did you—oh, fuck, harder—they don’t deliver—”

  
“Well, I had to ask nicely, but when I told them it was for my pregnant husband…” Viktor nuzzles him. “Sorry that I can’t fuck you properly, dearest.”

“This is—fine—”

Yuuri shivers, Viktor’s warm hand wrapped around him, Yuuri’s fingers shoved awkwardly inside himself, the second chicken nugget held between his teeth. Chocolatey mayo is running down his chin. As soon as Yuuri comes, he’s going to be utterly humiliated.

But for now, he lets himself be fed garbage and stroked to completion, Viktor’s soft voice urging him on, nothing but heat and pleasure on his mind.

* * *

Because karma is real, Viktor has a pseudoheat the next week. It comes on him suddenly.

“Okay, Mario, we have to get more dishtowels,” Yuuri says seriously. “And we need more glasses.”

“Mine is Mario, Yuuri. Yours is Luigi. Isn’t that right?” Viktor pats his stomach. “Hmm?”

“Vitya, you always give me the weird na— _Vitya.”_

One minute he and Yuuri are reorganizing the kitchen, the next Viktor’s eyes have fallen shut and his scent has sharpened. Yuuri’s nose is already more sensitive than usual; the way Viktor smells makes his mouth water even more than usual.

“Oh,” Viktor says. His face is red. “We still have to do the glasses.”

“Later.”

“Okay,” Viktor sighs.

Yuuri starts herding him towards the bedroom, and before long Viktor has taken Yuuri’s place on their carefully arranged pillow mountain. Today the pillows are ordered by color. It takes them half an hour every morning to make the bed up properly.

At least they’re both experiencing equal amounts of nesting behavior. And it’s worth it, to see Viktor’s head tip back in pleasure as he goes boneless in their makeshift nest.

“I have an idea,” Yuuri says. “Hang on a minute.” He goes into the closet.

When he comes back out, rolling their fucking machine in front of him, Viktor’s eyebrows go up and his mouth falls open. He looks rather silly as Yuuri kicks the brakes into place on the stand and smears lube over the attached dildo.

It takes some effort to get it in line with Viktor’s body, since he’s not as flexible as he normally is, but finally Yuuri manages it. He picks up the remote and climbs back onto the bed to hold Viktor’s hand.

“Okay?”

“Please.”

Yuuri hits the button, and Viktor cries out as the machine thrusts mercilessly into him. It doesn’t take long; his grip on Yuuri’s gets tighter and tighter, until he squeezes so hard it hurts and then lets go. Viktor pants, and Yuuri switches the machine off and smooths Viktor’s bangs back. They’re longer than they were five months ago; he’s been growing out his hair.

“God,” Viktor says. “You’re so smart, Yuuri.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Is there any food, do you think? I want a pomegranate.”

“You…want a pomegranate.”

“Yes.”

“…huh.” Yuuri has no idea where he’d even buy one at this time, and he has no intention of leaving the apartment, but he does have Georgi’s phone number. Georgi has been an expert at buying obscure foods ever since he started dating that chef. “Hang on.”

_[yuuri] we need pomegranates_

_[georgi] im asleep_

_[yuuri] but we’re pregnant_

_[georgi] fine_

‘But we’re pregnant’ is like a magic spell. The thing Yuuri enjoys about being pregnant most is that everyone wants to do things for him, and since it’s really for his baby, Yuuri doesn’t even have to feel bad about it.

“Really, it’s not me who wants the pomegranate. It’s Frog here who wants it. Right?” Viktor pokes his stomach.

“Frog?”

“And yours is Toad.”

“When are we giving them actual names?”

“There’s plenty of time.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri puts a hand on Viktor’s belly, and Viktor puts a hand on Yuuri’s belly. There’s cramping starting up, low in Yuuri’s groin; he hisses in pain, and Viktor frowns at him, concerned.

“Does it hurt?”

“I think Toad is mad at me.”

“Oh, no. Come on, Toad. Your dad has to rest so he can cut the pomegranate for me.”

They hold each other’s stomachs until the doorbell rings. Viktor drags himself to the front door to collect the vaunted pomegranate; because Georgi is a good friend, he’s already emptied the seeds into a bottle for them.

Viktor comes back with a warm compress for Yuuri’s cramps and two spoons. They eat the pomegranate together, spoons forgotten in favor of putting the seeds in each other’s mouths with their fingers. Viktor’s scent softens as the heat fades.

Yuuri falls asleep before the bottle is empty. When he wakes up, Viktor is back in the kitchen, nesting again.


	3. but i just think i'm free

“Why do they want me to endorse their clothing line?”

“Half of it is them trying to look progressive by putting an omega couple in their ads,” Viktor says, head bent over his tablet. “The other half is that we’re very famous.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says from his position on the gym floor, legs spread on the mat, pregnancy yoga video playing in the background. He stretches. The baby moves. He smiles, even as he goes on, “but why did they want me? Why not just you?”

“It’s because you’re so beautiful.”

Yuuri stares flatly at himself in the mirrored wall of the gym. He looks awful. He looks like three day old overcooked beef. But even if Yuuri was covered in spiders and had toenails that were a meter long, Yuuri suspects Viktor would find him beautiful. Viktor is a lot of things, but objective about Yuuri is not one of them.

But that’s all right. Yuuri’s made peace with it. He doesn’t need to be pretty; he only needs to be pretty enough for Viktor to love him, and Viktor has waxed poetically over him while holding his head while he throws up.

“You’re the best husband,” Yuuri says, “and also, I want them to photoshop me. A lot.”

“We can go over the proofs before they finalize any of the ads.”

“Okay.”

Skating is difficult now that Yuuri’s in the second trimester, and so he and Viktor have transitioned to whatever they can comfortably do together. People stare when he runs, so Yuuri has taken to using the rink complex’s gym and studio and pool. They swim in side by side lanes, and they cycle on side by side stationary bikes, and they take turns doing yoga in this tiny back room in the gym, because there’s not room for two mats and after the incident Yuuri cannot handle Viktor doing yoga where people catcall him in public.

(Well, if Viktor really wanted him to, Yuuri would handle it, but Viktor didn’t say a word when Yuuri moved them to this back room, so Yuuri figures it’s okay.)

“Are you finished?”

“Give me five minutes and we can switch.” Yuuri yawns. Why is he so fucking tired all the time? “Lemon’s getting antsy.”

“Lime is, too.”

At this point, Yuuri has accepted that their babies aren’t going to have actual names until the last minute. He’s been sucked into nicknaming hell with Viktor. It’s fine.

Yuuri finishes his yoga, sweat dripping down his forehead, and then gets to his feet; Viktor holds out a hand to steady him. It’s not needed. He takes it anyway.

Viktor replaces him on the mat and hits replay on the laptop. Soft music plays as he begins stretching. The woman onscreen is too perky for Yuuri’s exercise needs—he hates being told to smile—and he makes a mental note to try someone else’s videos during their next session. They have a personal trainer twice a week, but Yuuri likes to have time with Viktor alone.

He digs into the bag of trail mix Viktor brought with them while Viktor does his yoga. It’s mostly normal. Except for the marshmallows. And the cheese puffs. Yuuri eats two handfuls before realizing he has to pee, again. He gets up, and at the same moment Viktor hits pause. They stare at each other.

Yuuri holds out a hand to help him up, and then they both scramble for the bathroom. No one in the halls gives them a second look (after the incident, Yuuri would be surprised if anyone did.)

* * *

The company that wants their endorsement wants them to model two separate lines of clothing, which Yuuri finds confusing.

“Didn’t you read the briefing?” Viktor asks.

“Didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here, so I never have to read anything.”

“Then you have to be in charge of assembling furniture.”

Yuuri remembers with absolute clarity the honeymoon Ikea debacle.

“Deal.”

“Deal,” Viktor says. They’re in a cab on their way over; even so, Viktor reaches out to touch Yuuri’s stomach. He doesn’t do anything, just rest his hand over the swell of it, his palm warm through the sweatshirt Yuuri is wearing, which originally belonged to Viktor before he stole it. Neither of them even pretend they’re not buying things for the other to steal anymore. When Yuuri came home last week with a pale yellow nightgown that he put in away on his side of the dresser, Viktor just told him he’d wanted blue.

Yuuri touches Viktor’s stomach, too. He can feel the baby moving.

“Are you ready, Apple?” he asks. “It’s photoshoot time. We’re going to go through hair and makeup, and have our picture taken, and eat terrible free food, and…”

“Do you hear that, Orange? We’re going to get dressed up.” Viktor pats Yuuri’s belly. “Please be excited. I’ve bought you so many clothes already.”

“Your dad is addicted to shopping,” Yuuri says. “It’s a problem.”

“I’m not addicted.”

“Your dad is also a liar.”

“Don’t listen to him!”

* * *

Yuuri ends up wearing what looks like a denim shirt with patches and an attached bandana. Fashion is weird. While his hair is being styled and someone yells at an intern about the way the shirt fits over his stomach, he watches Viktor being styled in the chair next to him.

The woman doing Viktor’s hair is gushing over how soft it is. He’s wearing a long beige robe to keep the makeup off whatever he’s wearing. While Yuuri’s been made up just enough to make him look human and not puffy, Viktor’s face is being highlighted and glittered. He wonders what is underneath Viktor’s robe; something more feminine, probably. Maybe a nice dress.

“Viktor’s up first,” the omega lady assigned to herd them around says. “Do you want to watch him or would you prefer to wait in the lounge?”

“I’ll watch.”

Someone gets him a chair, some lemon water, and vinegary potato chips to dip in honey mustard. Viktor’s set appears to be a bedroom, with crisp white sheets and dark wood, and a vanity with a stool in front of it. The director arranges Viktor in front of the vanity mirror—he’s an alpha and his hands linger and Yuuri starts to get up—and then Viktor pushes him away and says something, too low for Yuuri to hear. Yuuri can imagine, though: the alpha man wants to knock Viktor up, or wants the exact dimensions of Yuuri’s cock, or assumes that because Viktor is known to only date omegas (well, he was known, before he attached himself to Yuuri forever) he must just never have heard that alphas supposedly have bigger dicks.

Whatever it is, Viktor isn’t too bothered, because once the director has backed off Viktor stands up and slips off the robe to reveal that he is…wearing lingerie.

He’s wearing a negligee, in pale pink, the neckline cut low between puffy nipples, the lace delicate against Viktor’s skin. Over it he’s wearing a gauzy robe that covers nothing, There are panties.

Yuuri closes his mouth, and then drinks some water, and then quietly panics. This ad is going to be seen by people.

On the other hand, Viktor will probably get to keep this outfit. And they have a hotel room tonight with a huge soaking tub and a palatial shower and a very soft bed that neither of them will have to clean.

Viktor is giving the camera bedroom eyes. In between takes he glances in Yuuri’s direction and winks.

* * *

Finally, it’s Yuuri’s turns. He pees beforehand in the vain hope he won’t have to pee again immediately, and then allows himself to be led to a fake fence in front of a green screen.

“There’s going to be a playground,” someone tells him.

Viktor, lounging in a chair nearby with his feet up and a bowl of berries dressed in lemon juice, waves. Yuuri waves back before he’s made to pose, not quite straight on at the camera. His glasses are cleaned.

“We’re gonna be demonstrating the special features of our new, rugged line of clothing. It’s for both alphas and omegas.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says.

“…do you know what they are?”

“No.”

“Well, the patches are made of moleskin so you can snuggle the baby. And there’s a loop for a burp rag.” The intern points out the bandana. “You’ll see when the other model gets here.”

“The other model?”

“Hey, over here!” the intern whispers loudly. Yuuri opens his mouth to ask why everyone’s whispering, and then he sees them.

The omega man, and in his arms, a sleeping baby swaddled in mint green.

“I just put him down. You have probably an hour if no one makes any noise,” he whispers. He holds out his arms; slowly, tentatively, Yuuri opens his own and accepts the baby.

Yuuri’s not held a lot of babies. (He and Viktor have both caught each other practicing on whatever’s vaguely baby-shaped at home.) He cradles him in his arms; the baby is so small. So soft. He has teeny tiny fingernails.

 _Fuck,_ Yuuri thinks. _I have one inside me. How did that happen?_

He makes the mistake of looking up. Viktor is crying.

“Hi,” Yuuri whispers, as quietly as he can. The photographer starts shooting; he barely registers their attempts to communicate with him via cue card and hand gesture. All his attention is on the baby in his arms. In a few months, he and Viktor are going to be responsible for two tiny lives just like this one.

It’s huge.

(He and Viktor both alternate crying in the cab back to the hotel and over their dinner, even as they watch horrible youtube compilations of infants doing cute things. Eventually they lie there in silence, holding hands. They never do get around to ruining Viktor’s pretty maternity lingerie.

“Are you scared?” Viktor asks.

“Terrified,” Yuuri replies. He squeezes Viktor’s hand. “But in a good way.”)


	4. i wake up everyday is a daydream

“Are we ever going to name them?”

“There’s plenty of time.”

“Vitya, it took us three weeks to pick what color the nursery was going to be. Aren’t we supposed to name them before they’re born?”

“Soon.”

“Why don’t you want to name them?”

“Because if something happens—it’ll be worse that way.”

“Vitya—”

“Please, can we wait a little longer?”

“We can wait as long as you want. It’s not like we’re running out of nicknames any time soon.”

“Have you decided what their names are today?”

“Jam and Jelly.”

“Cute! Now smile, I have to announce it on Twitter. #vic2ri is trending again.”

* * *

At this point in his pregnancy, Yuuri has gotten used to the staring, and the whispering, and the pity. He’s even given on trying to dress normally; Viktor wears lovingly styled maternity dresses and practically floats, Yuuri wears Viktor’s oversized cast offs with holes in them and sweatpants. (Both of them are wearing matching parkas, though. Getting cold might be bad for the baby.)

So they go to the grocery, hand in hand, to get food and a hot drink and pick up their prenatal vitamins. Yuuri’s scarf itches, even though it’s another theft from Viktor and is made of the softest cashmere. He undoes it and drapes it over Viktor’s shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“Itches.”

“Ah. Do we need soy milk?”

“Have we ever bought soy milk?”

“I think I did once.”

“On purpose?”

“No.”

“Put the soy milk down, Vitya. Do they have wasabi peas?”

“Next aisle. Should I go get them for you? They’re on the top shelf.”

Viktor is only seven centimeters taller than Yuuri, a small distance, not nearly enough height to make a difference in who gets things off the top shelf. But despite this, Viktor always offers, and Yuuri always lets him. He’s pretty sure in Viktor’s mind it’s romantic, and Yuuri doesn’t like stretching in the store because his shirts ride up and then passing old ladies want to touch his belly.

He rubs his stomach absently as Viktor goes; the baby’s been very quiet today. Viktor sang her a lullaby, earlier, in heavily accented Japanese, based off a recording Hiroko sent of baby Yuuri. Viktor’s baby is getting more and more responsive, kicking when Yuuri lays his palms on his belly and stilling when he talks, but it’s hard to tell with Yuuri’s baby.

A part of him can’t help but wonder if something is wrong, even though they just saw the omegologist and they said everything was fine.

The baby kicks.

“Oh, hi, Peanut.”

They kick again.

“Yeah, I know. We’ll eat when we get home. We’re stopping for french fries, I don’t care what Vitya says.”

There’s a fluttering in his stomach, like a hiccup. Irrationally, Yuuri can’t help but think his baby is laughing at him. Then they shift so that it hurts, right against his ribs, and he winces and drops the carton of crackers he’s holding into the cart.

(They have a delivery service for the groceries they actually need.)

“Come on, Peanut. Don’t kick me now. At least wait until we get home.”

The pain does not abate. Yuuri rubs his belly again, trying fruitlessly to coax the baby to move, but they’re settled now. He sighs.

“Yuuri?”

“Your baby won’t listen to me.”

“Ah, he must have got it from his sire.”

“I hope he turns out exactly like you.”

Viktor blushes and squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder as he puts the wasabi peas in their cart. “He?”

“I know we don’t know,” Yuuri says, “but I kind of have a feeling.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, really. We should switch pronouns every few days, just to confuse people.”

“Yeah. He was kicking a lot a minute ago, but he’s calmed down now.” Yuuri leans into Viktor, just for a moment, before he starts pushing the cart again. “I think he missed you.”

“I missed him, too. And I think Walnut did too.” Viktor smiles. “Maybe they miss each other.”

* * *

[The nursery is half-finished. The walls are painted a pale blue; the unassembled pieces of a crib are sitting in the center of the room next to an open toolbox. Boxes with baby store labels, some still sealed and some opened, reveal diapers and bedding. A single white baby dress with matching shoes is sitting on top of an enormous, battered wooden trunk in the corner. A bright red den den daiko is sitting on the windowsill. Viktor and Yuuri’s shadows are cast against the wall; it looks like they are laughing.]

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**nikiforov-katsuki** getting ready for Thing 1 and Thing 2  <3 #vic2ri #victuuri #babyfever #nesting

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* * *

 

Yuuri keeps waiting to be more nervous than he actually is.

Viktor worries enough for the both of them, though he masks it behind baby enthusiasm. More often than not Yuuri finds himself trying to sooth him without calling Viktor out for trying to hide his feelings, in part because both of them are a bit weepy nowadays. Maybe it’s because of that that Yuuri isn’t too worried; Viktor is leeching all the anxiety there is, and there’s none left.

He finds himself thinking about his childhood a lot these days. Yuuri’s parents are ideal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever really appreciated their understanding and their patience. They’ve never made Yuuri feel burdensome or asked him to change himself or expressed disappointment in the way he’s turned out. No, they were solid, and so he’d been able to develop on his own without concern that they wouldn’t support him.

With that kind of example to follow, Yuuri has taken to imagining long, elaborate parenting scenarios whenever his mind wanders. He can never decide what the kids will look like, though he wants one of them to have Viktor’s hair. He can never decide what their personalities will be like. Instead, he tries to come up with problems to solve, and ways to solve them.

It’s satisfying, somehow, even though he’s not really doing anything. It’s like practicing a routine for competition, like dancing the routine in the studio before trying it out on the ice. Yuuri is learning to jump so he can land properly when the time comes.

“What were your parents like?”

“Mine?” Viktor puts down his book. They’re at the dog park, letting Makkachin run around. “They were…”

He trails off, finger at his lips as he thinks. Viktor doesn’t talk about his parents. If Yuuri wasn’t a Viktor expert from childhood, he might have suspected Viktor of being born from seafoam and divinity instead of a mere human.

“They were kind,” Viktor says slowly. “They didn’t understand why I wanted to skate, but they supported me. My sire used to sit with me and help me with my schoolwork. My dam used to talk to me in French when she was teasing; my sire didn’t speak it.”

Yuuri notes that Viktor refers to his parents as ‘sire’ and ‘dam’, which is a little old-fashioned in English. Nowadays gendered terms like ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ are used. It’s different in Russian, though.

“Do you…” Yuuri clears his throat. “…miss them?”

“Sometimes. It’s not really something you get over. But they died when I was twelve. It was a long time ago. So I miss them less.”

“That’s good.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Whenever I try to figure out being a parent, I think about what Mom and Dad would do. But you’ve never said what you think about.”

“Mm.”

Yuuri leans back against the bench and looks away, at where Makkachin is investigating a fellow dog owner’s beagle.

“Yakov and Lilia were divorced about six months after my parents passed,” Viktor finally says. “I thought it was my fault for a long time, you know.”

“Really?”

“Lilia didn’t see me for years after that. She moved back to Moscow and she and Yakov only communicated through their divorce lawyers. I was staying with them at the time.”

“Why didn’t she see you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think she meant any harm. It wasn’t an amicable divorce, they didn’t start talking until Yakov took Yura on.”

“You felt like she abandoned you?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. We’ve made up.”

Yuuri turns this over in his head.

“When I decided I want to compete, I started having nightmares.” He toys with the hem of his sweater. “My parents never said anything to me. I wouldn’t have admitted to them if they had. But my mom, she never complained when I came back from Minako’s studio exhausted because it was the easiest way for me to sleep. And my dad used to warm up milk for me and leave it in my room.”

Viktor smiles. “You know, the last time we were in Hasetsu, your mother bought three boxes of those green tea Kit Kats I like. She put them on top of my suitcase. And when I tried to thank her, she just made me do the dishes.”

“You don’t have to thank her. She…” Yuuri shrugs. “She knows.”

“That’s how I’d like our babies to feel about us.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand. Me too.”

* * *

From: yuurikatsudon@yahoo.com

To: KatsukiHasetsu@gmail.com

Mom/Dad/Mari,

Here are yesterday’s ultrasounds. We got your care package. (We ate most of it already. Sorry.)

Vitya won’t stop watching those baby videos you sent. He wants a lot more of them, so here’s a picture of him as a kid as revenge.

[bbvitya27.jpg]

I hope things are going well there. I saw the new website; Mari did a great job.

— Yuuri

[ultrasoundradish.jpg] [ultrasoundbeetroot.jpg]


	5. what i want, want, want is what you want, want, want

Yuuri is lying on the couch with his Viktor dakimura (Olympics limited edition, drunkenly autographed by Viktor last year) while Viktor does the same on the opposite end (his dakimura is Eros Yuuri, with glasses crudely drawn on in blue sharpie). Snuggling is a bit difficult now that they’re both only a month from delivery, and so they’ve taken to entangling their legs instead.

The dakimura is not nearly as huggable as Viktor, who gives the most perfect hugs on the planet. But it has to suffice until after the births. Yuuri can’t wait to see Viktor hold their kids, and comfort them in his arms.

“We should do something.”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not enough to get up.” Their couch is new; Yuuri complained about their old one once, three months into their pregnancy, and there were deliverymen with something more comfortable there the next day.

“I think Yakov was going to send Yurio.”

“Oh, it’s not taking away from his practicing?”

“He volunteered—although he’ll deny it if you ask. I think he thinks the other skaters are too incompetent to help us.”

“Good.”

Ever since he entered the third trimester, Yuuri has felt more protective of the apartment, especially of their nest, and strangers coming in and out makes him paranoid. Nesting behavior is normal during pregnancy, but Yuuri still feels bad about it, since he and Viktor do need the help.

Yurio is all right, though. He’s trustworthy. He’s already bought the babies a collection of animal print outfits and gotten baby CPR certified “just in case”.

_God, my ankles are killing me._ The swelling in his feet and ankles is persistent and painful, and Yuuri has yet to find a solution. Viktor’s are swollen, too, and between the two of them there is a lot of complaining.

“You’re crushing me, Milk,” he says seriously to his belly. “My feet are so full of water they could pass for an aquarium.

Viktor laughs. “Do you hear that, Cookie? Your sire’s already got a pet for you, and you’re not even born yet.”

Yuuri props his feet up higher, resting them on Viktor’s legs. Viktor bears this with good grace.

“At least our babies will be healthy,” Viktor says. “That’s what Mama told me—that the baby is healthier if you’re a bit sick.”

“My mom had two perfect pregnancies.”

“…oh.”

Viktor is leaning back against the arm of the couch. Yuuri does the same, and winces; his back hurts. He has a network of new stretch marks. He gets winded now, when he used to be able to run circles around Viktor. He loves this kid, but he wishes he could fast forward through labor and get them out of him already.

“Here.” Viktor cradles Yuuri’s ankle. It’s a bit tricky, the angle of it, but he presses his thumb into the arch of Yuuri’s foot and Yuuri groans in pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

“You need to put lotion on them.” Viktor rummages around under himself to produce a dusty bottle of cocoa butter. “They’re dry.”

“That’s because I can’t reach them. I’m not even sure I have feet.”

“Trust me, you have feet. Beautiful feet.”

Yuuri eyes him skeptically. Viktor squirts a generous amount of lotion into his hands and starts rubbing it in. He’s strong, and relentless, and Yuuri slumps back against his pillow and sighs. His soles, his ankles, his heels, even his toes, they all hurt, and not being able to walk around sometimes makes Yuuri feel like he’s in a cage. And when he does go out, he gets anxious about not being in the nest. He can’t win.

“Do you like being pregnant?” he asks.

Viktor beams. “Yes! I think it’s fun.” He squeezes Yuuri’s big toe. “But you’re getting tired of it.”

“I didn’t know growing a person inside you was this hard,” Yuuri says flatly. “If we have any more, you’re doing it.”

“Really?”

“I—” Sometimes Yuuri just says things. Viktor has a habit of blurting out things to Yuuri without thinking, too, but this habit is the result of him not trying to mask all the unpleasant parts of his personality, so Yuuri rather enjoys it; the occasional blunt insult is a fair trade off for such perfect trust. But Yuuri tries to be more considered. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“We’ll see.”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I do want more,” Viktor admits. “But not immediately.”

“Oh.”

Yuuri hasn’t even thought about it. He feels a little guilty, knowing how much Viktor wants an entire hockey team of Nikiforov-Katsukis, but just having two kids seems like a mindblowing concept. Until they put the baby in his arms Yuuri won’t be convinced any of this is real. It’s too wonderful.

Viktor continues massaging his feet while Yuuri imagines having a house full of children. Four or five of them, running up and down the stairs, harassing their grandparents and the dog, filling every lonely inch of every room with love. Yuuri’s family is small, his parents are both only children, and he’s never wanted more siblings; Mari is enough for him.

And their babies will have each other, of course.

“Let me do yours,” Yuuri says, in lieu of an apology. But Viktor must understand; he passes Yuuri the lotion, and lets Yuuri massage his feet in turn. One of Viktor’s nails is cracked where he ran into a door, yesterday. Yuuri finds himself staring at it, wondering if it hurts.

The nail will heal, with time. The baby will be born, and Yuuri’s body will shrink again, leaving only scars and stretch marks as a reminder of the child he carried. But he will be changed, all the same, softer and weaker, and there will be two kids to look after, two new people for Viktor to lavish himself on.

Not that Viktor will not love him, but Yuuri hasn’t had sex in a while, as both of their libidos have diminished. Rationally, Yuuri knows the whole “married couples don’t have sex” thing is a myth. But as his discomfort with his heave body grows, he wonders: will he ever be sexy to Viktor again? Will he become like one of Viktor’s marble busts or paintings, to be admired but never touched? Spoiled but never desired?

Viktor pats the back of his hand wordlessly.

“You know, someone came up to me and told me they envied me for not marrying an alpha.”

Yuuri blinks. “Why?”

“Well, apparently marrying a fellow omega is like marrying a friendly roommate, with no spark or passion, and we sit around knitting and cuddling all day with no sex or arguments.”

The last time Yuuri knitted anything, it was years ago, because someone had bought him a beginner’s box of yarn and needles and instructions. Viktor got fed up of yarn shedding all over the white furniture, and they argued furiously; then they made up by having sex right there on the floor.

In the end, Yuuri gave all his knitting things to Viktor, and over the past eight months Viktor has amassed a collection of teeny baby booties and hats and knitted skates, as well as matching outfits for Makkachin and their children. Some of his attempts are even credible. Yuuri does not complain about yarn remnants. They argue about other things instead.

“How do they explain you coming to me house to teach me your sex program while wearing your bondage costume?”

“That’s so unfair, Yuuri. I showed you my dick first. I only resorted to seducing you through skating when blatant nudity failed me.”

“Some day our kids are going to ask how we met, and we’re going to have to lie to them.”

“They could google us.”

“Oh, god.” Yuuri shudders. “I’ll never fit into that costume again, you know.”

“I know.”

“Nothing but dad clothes for the next ten years.”

“Excellent. I’m into that.”

  
“Since when?”

“Since I impregnated you. No, I lie, about ten seconds after I saw you at the banquet and saw you in that tragic outfit you were wearing—”

“It wasn’t tragic—”

“It was a monstrosity, and I thought, god, he looks middle aged, and then I started thinking about our future children, and now here we are.”

“Is that what we’re gonna tell that kids? You exist because I bought my suit from a Sears?”

“Not in front of Chili and Pepper!” Viktor covers his stomach like he’s trying to block out the sound of Yuuri’s voice. “That’s disgusting, Yuuri, we don’t use that kind of language. Bespoke only for you two, babies, don’t worry”

Yuuri laughs, and rubs his stomach, and wonders if the babies are going to born vaguely traumatized. At least they’ll never have to doubt that they were loved, and wanted; at least they’ll have Yuuri and Viktor to model what love is supposed to look like.

At least now Yuuri knows Viktor will probably be into him in ten years when he has a gut and dresses like Yakov.

It’s almost three, should we read to them?”

“Sure.”

Yuuri takes out his phone. There are hundreds of articles about what should be read to a fetus to make them smarter, and none of them agree, and all of them are specious. At this point, he and Viktor have taken to randomly selecting whatever is on sale and not pornography from the Kindle store. Right now they’re in the midst of one of Viktor’s period romances. It’s awful.

Yuuri opens up the app and begins reading where they left off.

“Lady Drake was terrified to think that her mistake with the tea things might have killed her father-in-law, the Duke. She was torn; the right thing would be to confess all…”


	6. instead of talking let me demonstrate

Viktor is the worst at concealing his kinks.

Like, the actual worst. Yuuri knew about his foot fetish before they even started dating, because Viktor kept trying to tie his skates for him and bringing him gifts of nicer socks and offering to put moisturizer on his ankles. Yuuri figured out that Viktor liked feeding him and he realized that Viktor got off on being trapped between his thighs and eventually, after one too many make out sessions that ended with Viktor’s face pressed against his stomach, he finally came to terms with the fact that Viktor was into him being chubby.

Which is weird, but whatever, Viktor is a weirdo.

So when Yuuri wakes up with leaky nipples, his reaction is vague annoyance and a search in their pregnancy nonsense dresser drawer for the padded pasties. But the pasties are pink and Yuuri has soaked them through within the hour. Viktor takes one look at him when he comes back from walking Makkachin, nearly trips over their poor dog, and says “Good morning!” in a strangled voice.

And then he makes Yuuri breakfast and doesn’t say a word, just stares.

Yuuri could put him out of his misery.

He could.

He just decides not to. It’s more fun this way.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Yuuri does is get rid of all the pasties and replaced them with thicker, more absorbent ones. The second thing he does is wear them in public along with heavier shirts so that his milk dripping is invisible.

The third thing he does is start going around their apartment shirtless. And sometimes pantsless.

Okay, fine, he’s just lounging around naked and muffling his laughter behind his hand while Viktor gets increasingly flustered.

“Are we breastfeeding?” he asks one afternoon, as they sort through some paperwork regarding their future move to Hasetsu. Even though it’s easily a year off, they still need to figure out a house and schools and all kind of logistics.

“I want to,” Viktor says. “But I don’t think it will hurt the babies either way. Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“You don’t have to do anything. I know I—but as long as both of them are healthy…”

Yuuri reaches out without looking and pats his hand. Viktor is much more worried about being overbearing than he is actually overbearing; the longer their pregnancy progresses without incident, the calmer he is. If Viktor was set on breastfeeding, or baby slings, or some other harmless childrearing practice, Yuuri would try to indulge him.

“I’m taking a break,” he says. He leans back against the chair, arms over his head, lifting his chest. A little milk dribbles out. Yuuri glances sideways at Viktor, who is watching him raptly and holding his sheet of paper upside down. Then he pinches the tip of one puffy nipple gently.

Oh, that feels good. He whimpers.

“I have to…yes,” Viktor says incoherently. He flees.

“Coward,” Yuuri mumbles. He shoves his hand down his pants.

What? Pregnancy horniness is a valid symptom. And so far it’s the only one Yuuri has had that isn’t awful.

 

* * *

 

When nudity and some unsubtle masturbation while Viktor is in the next room doesn’t work, Yuuri does the logical thing. He strips down, sits down beside Viktor on the sofa while Viktor is knitting a wobbly looking hat and watching the local news, and starts blatantly playing with his nipples. They’re weeping milk and have darkened; they’re sensitive and Yuuri makes no effort to disguise how good it feels; Viktor damn nears stabs himself in the hand when he moans.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri gasps, and he lets one hand drift between his legs underneath his belly.

“I—I’m going to—”

“If you leave, Viktor, I swear to god—” He starts fingering himself and wishes he could suck his own nipples.

“But—”

“Seriously—”

“Isn’t it weird?” Viktor asks helplessly. Yuuri would be a lot more sympathetic if he couldn’t see Viktor’s erection and if he didn’t feel so much like a kettle boiling over.

“Admit that you like it and I’ll let you touch them.”

“What if it hurts their feelings?”

“Whose—what, Cucumber and Zucchini’s?”

“Yes!”

“It’s not like they’re here to drink it! Besides, you’re supposed to stimulate them so I don’t dry up.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure that if you don’t touch me I’m going to explode.”

“Fine,” Viktor says. He slides down the couch until they’re side by side, and he has to hunch a little awkwardly to get them into a comfortable position, and then Viktor’s tongue flicks out over the pearly drop of fluid at the tip of Yuuri’s chest.

It feels like a live wire’s been touched to his spine, like his whole body is burning. Viktor’s hands dig into his skin as he laps away. He licks one, and then the other, making awful, wonderful wet noises as he does. Yuuri’s head drops back against the cushions.

When Viktor actually sucks one swollen nipple into his mouth, it’s like fireworks are going off inside him. He feels it all the way down, and Viktor’s hand drops down the curve of his stomach to grope at his cock, and Yuuri comes so fast it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so good.

“Don’t stop,” he says as Viktor lifts his head.

Viktor, having finally gotten the fucking hint, does not stop.

(He starts lactating the next day. Yuuri lets him keep his shirt on; he likes the way Viktor’s floaty maternity tops stick in wet patches to his chest.

“Do you think they know?” Viktor asks again, in between discussions of baby sling sizing. One of the salespeople bringing them things gives them a look. Yuuri winces.

He pats Viktor’s belly. “It’s fine.”)


	7. we bring the stars out

They’re late.

Their due dates pass, and Viktor is obviously trying to hide how nervous he is; his insecurity about being too old for a healthy pregnancy has returned full force. Yuuri’s not exactly pleased himself; he loves these kids, but he is very ready to not have them sitting on his internal organs kicking him.

They decide to try natural methods of inducing labor first, before they let the omegologist induce.

Exercise is a failure; they go for a walk around the block, and all that happens is that a neighbor asks them a bunch of nosy questions about where their alphas are and why they’re out unprotected. They try nipple stimulation next, which is extremely pleasant but does not make their kids want to emerge from the womb. Yuuri vetos acupuncture, because needles freak him out.

That leaves them with two options: Yuuko’s suggestion, spicy foods (worked really well with the triplets, she insists) and the first result on Google: labor including sex.

Yuuri doesn’t feel all that sexy, but sure. He and Viktor’s lunch of garlicky chicken with chilies and wasabi is awful. Their attempts to kiss each other afterward are horrific. Five minutes of teeth brushing and gargling mouthwash later, they lie down in their nest together and sigh.

“We have the appointment scheduled next week.”

“I know.”

“Let’s…try the sex thing,” Yuuri offers. “Just in case.”

“Okay.”

They get out the vibrators they used during that perfect heat together, when they conceived. It feels more awkward than sexy, holding them to the underside of their cocks and turning them on; even with Viktor holding his hand, Yuuri can’t focus on anything but the baby inside him. They’re kicking him. The vibrator doesn’t seem to agree with them.

He looks at Viktor, who looks more nauseated than anything.

“…Vitya?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re crying.”

“It kind of hurts,” he admits.

“Jesus, just stop,” Yuuri says. He bats Viktor’s hand away from between his legs. “Let’s let the doctor handle it.”

“I should be able to do this.”

“It doesn’t matter how they get here as long as they do.” Viktor is turning into him. He is turning into Viktor.

“You’re getting a lot better at comforting me when I’m crying.”

“I’m practicing for when we’re drowning in screaming babies.”

They squeeze each other’s hands, the sex toys abandoned. Yuuri massages his belly as the baby thrashes. He has some pain, too. Viktor rolls onto his side, expression drawn, and hugs his pillow. Maybe a nap, Yuuri thinks. They’ll get some rest while Yuuri tries to think of something else to tell Viktor to make him feel better.

Maybe he should call his mom.

So they sleep, on and off, for a few hours. Yuuri’s stomach continues to hurt; Viktor continues to look depressed. Yurio stops by with lunch and an armful of cat plushies and more diapers. He glares at them while they eat.

“Stop looking so upset! Look, I even brought piroshki.”

“Yurio, I think Donut doesn’t love me.”

“Both of them love you,” Yuuri says immediately. “Bagel. Donut. Me.”

“Then why can’t I go into labor?”

“I don’t know!”

“And why does my stomach hurt?”

“I don’t know—wait, yours hurts too?”

“Yes…?”

“Is it…getting worse?”

“…yes?”

“Are you idiots going into labor?” Yurio asks.

Yuuri looks at Viktor. Viktor looks at him.

“…maybe?”

“Give me your car keys!”

“I’ll get the birthing plan,” Viktor says, dazed.

“I’ll call Yakov and Lilia.”

The three of them scramble.

* * *

[A photograph of Yuuri and Viktor, curled up on their bed together, is preserved in their baby book. Between them, in a miniature nest set into their bed, are two sleeping infants, barely visible under the swaddling. One of them has a few silvery curls; the other has dark hair. The blankets around them are knitted in blue and yellow and pink, a little shabbily, as if done by someone still learning.

Viktor is fast asleep; Yuuri is watching him with dark eyes, one hand brushing over the infants’ heads.

Underneath the photograph, there are a few messy lines, scrawled at the hospital after labor.

 _I’m so glad she has your hair,_ Yuuri wrote.

And beneath that, Viktor wrote in reply, _Thank god, we’ll be able to tell them apart._

And below those two lines, there are two blank spaces, to write in the babys’ names—still unfilled. But off to the side, Yuuri has written _Spread Eagle and Waltz Jump, born March 3rd, 2024._ And drawn around that, in Viktor’s hand, is a large heart.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're done!


End file.
